A memoir, presented as snapshots, those fleeting glimpses behind a billowing curtain as you walk past an open window. The scent of potatoes frying in butter and the sound of 1960s folk music escapes through the fabric, filling the void with their aromas and song. Behind the curtain, you glimpse someone, a palette of purple and blue-black shadows vignetted against the wooden window frame.

I am that someone. These are my stories. All of them happened.